


Halloween Mini Fic's 2015

by jonnyluvssherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demonlock, Ghost Hunting, Grim Reapers, M/M, Vampires, Zombies, a ghost is in love with john, chapter 5 in non-con. there are warning at the top of it!!, ghost - Freeform, halloween fic's, happy johnlock, izombie crossover, john has the second sight, mini fic's, sinister johnlock, spiritualist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnyluvssherlock/pseuds/jonnyluvssherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Halloween mini fic's based on prompts I was sent.  Featuring vampires, the grim reaper and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vison In The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Every fic will be different and between 500 and 2,00 words each. They will all be Sherlock centric as well as johnlock centric.
> 
> a note to anyone who sent prompts. i took them as inspiration so they might not have been taken the way you thought. i hope you enjoy anyways.

Anon: The darkest night of autumn. John sees visions through the fireplace.

 

John hated Halloween, bad things always happened to him. He supposed that’s what came from being kissed by the darkness. The veil opened and trouble always found him. This year he was going to stay inside with a book and avoid the whole thing. As darkness fell he closed the curtains, started a fire in the hearth and set his kettle to boil.

 

In the other room the phone rang but he ignored it. After a few minutes of ringing the answering machine picked up.

 

“John, John are you in? The lads and me are going on a pub-crawl tonight, you should join us.” There was a pause. “Call me if you want to come. Don’t sit in all night please.”

 

John sighed. Mike was well meaning but there was no way he was leaving his flat tonight.

 

As the hours passed and the night got darker John relaxed. So far it had been a boring evening and with any luck it would stay that way.

 

Suddenly the fire in the hearth kicked up as if a strong gust of wind had rushed through the room. John sat up in his chair and listened. The clock above the mantel chimed ten. Minutes passed and nothing else happened. John sat back in his chair trying to calm himself. He looked into the fire and gasped. There was a face in the fire, eyes watching him. The face seemed to see his reaction and gave him a chilling smile before disappearing.

 

John’s heart started beating so fast he felt like it would leap out of his chest. He walked to the bathroom in search of his anxiety pills. He found the bottle sitting by the sink and attempted to open it. His hands were shaking so bad he had to take several deep breaths before he could get the bottle open. Once he had swallowed the pill he went back to the kitchen. He would have another cup of tea, finish the chapter of his book and go to bed early.

 

He had just turned the kettle on when he heard a voice from the living room.

 

“I like mine with milk and two sugars.”

 

John jumped and looked to see a tall man with curly black hair sitting in his chair by the fire. The man looked up and smiled at him and John recognized him as the face from the fire.

 

“What do you want?” John asked his voice only a whisper.

 

The man’s smile widened making him look predatory. “You know why I’m here John.”

 

John nodded.

 

“Did you really think you could hide from me if you stayed in your flat?”

 

“I hoped.”

 

The man nodded. “You should have known it wouldn’t work. I can find you no matter where you go.”

 

The kettle whistled and John turned it off. He fixed them both their tea and brought it into the living room. He handed the man his and then sat in the less used second chair with his own.

 

“How are we going to do this?”

 

The man smiled. “I am going to finish my tea, and then I am going to feed from you.”

 

John gulped. “Wouldn’t you rather I did a reading?”

 

“No, your blood will tell me everything I need to know.”

 

“Is there anyone else coming?”

 

“No. I blocked your scent so no one else could find you.”

 

John looked up at the man, seeing him in a different light. Most creatures of darkness didn’t care what happened to him after they were done. This one was either kind or selfish wanted John to himself.

 

They finished their tea in silence, then the man beckoned him to him. John closed the space between them but paused.

 

“Can I know your name?”

 

The man smirked. “You can call me Sherlock.”

 

John closed his eyes and offered his neck. He felt a hand cup the back of his head as he was drawn closer. Breath tickled his neck, then he felt lips. Without warning the mouth opened and bit. John gasped, his eyes opening. He fought his instinct to run, knowing it would just cause him pain. His hands scrambled on the arms of the chair and then fell to the man’s legs.

 

The man purred, wrapped his second arm around John’s waist and drew him between his legs. 

 

John sagged in Sherlock’s arms, his vision darkening. When Sherlock let him go he sagged to the floor and fell back till he hit the other chair. He looked up at Sherlock’s red stained mouth.

 

“Thank you. Did you know with your blood in my system I won’t be drawn away at dawn? I get to stay here for a whole year.”

 

John gasped, trying to move his body to get away. Sherlock leaned down over him and ran a finger over John’s lips.

 

“I’ve decided to keep you. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

 

The last thing John saw before he passed out was Sherlock’s malevolent grin.


	2. Grim Reapers Lover

theanisplanet: 'I'm the grim reaper's servant. I've come to show you my master's realm.'

John finished lighting the candles and looked around the room. It would never be a cheerful place but he could at least make it feel a bit warmer. It was hard work making the underworld feel homey. He heard shuffling in the other room and smiled; Sherlock was home. He opened the door and smiled at his lover who sauntered in and took his chair by the fire without a word.

 

“Long day?”

 

“A plane crashed. I didn’t have enough workers on the ground to clean things up so I had to help.”

 

“Must have been hard after spending the last century as a pencil pusher.” Sherlock’s job had gotten more complicated over the centuries. More people meant more deaths. He had had to start hiring the dead to collect souls for him. It mean he spend most of his time making sure the operation went well instead of getting out and actually reaping souls.

 

Sherlock gave him a withering look.

 

“I’m not allowed to tease? I thought you kept me around for the witty banter I provide?!” John smirked. He loved teasing Sherlock.

 

“I keep you around because you’re a good shag.”

 

They both laughed and Sherlock patted his lap. 

 

It should have been annoying being asked to perk on his lap like child but John enjoyed it. He sat down and then sunk into Sherlock’s arms.

 

Sherlock smiled softly at John and stroked a boney finger down his chin. “Three thousand years and we still like each other.”

 

They both leaned in and kissed the other.

 

“Don’t regret bringing me home with you?” 

 

“Not even when you’re at your most annoying.”

 

When John had met Sherlock he had been human. He still was, technically. Sherlock had been sent to claim his mother. John had been born with the gift of the second sight and had seen Sherlock as he came into her bedroom. He had bargained for his mother but it did no good. Sherlock had produced an hourglass from his black robe and had shown John that the sand had run out. 

 

It should have been the last time they met till John’s death but Sherlock had become fascinated with him. He had visited John often, giving them the chance to talk and eventually fall in love. They couldn’t touch for Sherlock’s touch was deadly. When John’s hourglass had started to run out of time Sherlock had invited John to come to live with him; if he stayed in Sherlock’s house in the underworld he could not die. John had agreed. The sand had stopped falling in his hourglass and they had finally been allowed to touch.

 

John could no longer remember his life on Earth clearly. Sometimes he would recall a smell or a name but he could never summon up the details. What he did remember was being loved but alone; rejected for his gift. He still remembers the first time he saw Sherlock and when he had realized that Sherlock wasn’t afraid of him.

 

Sherlock’s arms tightened around him as if he could sense John’s mind was drifting into dark memories.

 

The clock on the mantelpiece let out a massive bong breaking their silence. It wasn’t a clock in the sense that it told time but instead it let Sherlock know when a soul only he could collect was about to die.

 

“I should go.” 

 

John got up and walked him to the door that held the hourglasses, following him as he walked through the rows to find the one he needed. Sherlock slipped the hourglass into the sleeve of his robe and made his way to the door that led to the human world. Just before he reached it he turned and leaned down to kiss John.

 

John smiled and took his face in his hands, deepening the kiss for a moment before Sherlock pulled away. John looked at the door but he knew he couldn’t follow; he would turn to dust the moment his feet touched the ground.

 

“Won’t be long.”

 

“I’ll make tea then.”

 

Sherlock nodded and turned to open the door.

 

John looked past him for a glimpse, seeing a bright blue; then the door shut, trapping him in darkness.


	3. Not Forgotten

turning-on-the-light: there's a ghost in the flat! john is all content with letting the spirit have its kicks but Sherlock is determined to find a scientific explanation for the "supernatural" activities

 

As John reached out his hand the jam jar in front of him lifted ominously. It sat itself by his plate and the spoon dropped a spoonful of jam on his toast. The knife sitting on his plate rose from its place and spread the jam out.

 

“Thank you.” John smiled at the empty space in front of him.

 

Across the table Sherlock scowled. There was marmalade in his tea and he knew it wasn’t an accident. He had noticed the spirit’s malicious behavior towards himself a few days after he and John had noticed its presence in the flat. It had been evident right away that the spirit liked John. It fetched him things, made his breakfast. Sherlock had noted it hadn’t done any of these things for him and that it didn’t like him when it had dumped a beaker of formaldehyde on him. Since then it had ruined his tea, tripped him on the stairs and electrocuted him.

 

John had put the first few things down to chance but even he now admitted the spirit wanted Sherlock out. Every time they touched it broke something. When they had kissed it had hurled a toaster at Sherlock’s head. They felt like prisoners, having to obey the will of a creature determined to keep them apart. 

 

John had tried talking but it hadn’t gone well. Sherlock had watched him talking to the air trying to explain that it couldn’t try to kill Sherlock just for existing. The spirit hadn’t reacted well. For the past two weeks they had been sleeping apart.

 

“I have to pick something up from the morgue this morning.” Sherlock kept his voice even, not letting his anger for the situation show.

 

“I’ll come with you; I need to talk to Mike.”

 

Sherlock nodded and got up to dress. 

 

They left the flat an hour later. They waited till the cab had pulled around the corner before they let their hands link. Sherlock felt John’s weight against his side and leaned into it. The sides of their heads tipped together and they both sighed.

 

“Lets just be thankful it doesn’t follow us around all day.” John whispered.

 

Sherlock grunted in response. He gave the cabbie a new address and let his eyes shut.

 

“I thought we were headed to Bart’s?”

 

“I made us an appointment with a spiritualist. I didn’t want it to know.”

 

“Do you really believe in those things?”

 

“With our current situation I had to.”

 

When the cab stopped Sherlock looked up at the shop they were in front of and held back a groan. There were tarot cards in the window and a sign advertising palm reading. They got out and crossed to the door. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. It smelled liked curry, wax and cheap incense. 

 

He looked to the back and saw a young woman in her mid twenties staring back at him. She was sat behind a counter with a takeaway container held in one hand and a fork in the other. She put the food down and then hid it under the counter.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“They’re here to see me.”

 

Sherlock looked to a door behind the counter. Out steeped another young woman. Sherlock saw the family resemblance at once.

 

“A sister act?” He asked them steeping closer.

 

“I’m Emma, this is Nicole. I do the readings, she mans the shop.” The second woman said, stepping next to her sister. She looked at Sherlock, then John. “How long has the spirit been haunting your flat?”

 

Sherlock grinned. He hadn’t told her why he had made the appointment when he called. She had either done her research or she was the real thing.

 

“Just about a month.” John said, his voice cracking as he spoke.

 

Emma reached for her coat and pulled it on. “Has anyone close to either of you died recently?”

 

“No.” Sherlock lifted his chin and looked down at her.

 

She passed them and made her way to the door. “Are you coming?”

 

Sherlock and John looked at each other, then her.

 

“I can’t exorcise it here. I have to be in the place it’s haunting.”

 

With another shared look and a nod of encouragement from John Sherlock followed her out of the shop.

 

During the cab ride home they explained the spirit’s sudden appearance and its preference for John. They told her how it had tried to kill Sherlock and was doing everything in its power to keep them apart. She had listened silently, nodding every once in a while. When the cab had pulled up back in front of Baker Street Emma turned to look at them.

 

“I will go in first. If I can I will get it to show its face. We may discover it is someone you know. It could be someone you worked with in the past or a friend of a friend. It’s clearly in love with John so I’ll need you to identify it.” She looked straight at John as she spoke the end of the sentence. “Once we have its name it will be simple for me to exorcise.”

 

The three of them headed up to the flat Emma in the lead. She pulled the flat door open and a gust of wind encircled her. She kept walking as if it wasn’t there. As she began to chant the wind kicked up till they could hardly hear her voice. Then, as suddenly as it was there, it was gone. Standing in front of her was a blurry shape of a man.

 

John steeped closer to see clearly and gasped.

 

“Who is it?” Emma asked.

 

“It’s Charlie Tier. We fought together in Afghanistan.”

 

The spirit looked at them sadly, reaching out a blurry hand to John.

 

Emma stepped between them. “Charlie Tier your time it over. Leave this place!”

 

Charlie glared at her and another gust of wind rushed at her.

 

She raised a hand and it broke before it reached her. “Leave this place!!” She bellowed.

 

With one more look at John Charlie dissolved.

 

“An ex of yours?” Sherlock asked from his place by the door.

 

“No. I hardly talked to him the two moths I knew him. He got transferred before I got to know him.”

 

“We never truly know the effect we have on people.” Emma said, turning back towards them. She gave John a sympathetic smile and moved to leave. As she passed Sherlock he held out several bills to her. She took them with a small nod and was gone.

 

Sherlock wasn’t very good at emotional moments but he could tell without even seeing John’s face that he was upset. He came up behind him and wrapped John in his arms.

 

“We can finally sleep in the same bed again.” Sherlock murmured into John’s hair

 

“There’s always that.” 

 

Sherlock didn’t know what else to say so he just held John till the shadow from the past cleared.


	4. Dead Love

Anon: iZombie crossover

 

John woke with a start, his sleep interrupted again by a nightmare. He groped in the dark and found Sherlock’s arm. He squeezed it and tried to calm his breathing. In the dark he could see Sherlock’s ghostly white skin. He placed his hand on Sherlock’s forearm but he couldn’t tell them apart. He knew why he was having nightmares. A year of visions and changes in personality with every new brain he ate. It didn’t help that this one had PTSD. He knew all he could do was ride it out until the next brain but he still hated it. How had this become his way of life?

 

He knew the answer lay in a dark November night thirteen months ago when a suspect he had been chasing had turned and attacked him, his fingers scratching down John’s face. He wouldn’t know for a day but he had been passed a virus that would change his life forever.

 

For good or for bad he lived with Sherlock, which meant Sherlock wasn’t squeamish about helping him procure brains from an ex client who worked in a morgue but it also meant experiments; on what John ate, how often he needed to feed, what tasted good, changes in behavior. Their sexual relationship had come to a screeching halt. They lived as scientist and experiment for three months. Then it stopped and John had been relieved. If he had known what Sherlock had been planning though, he would have left. And never come back 

 

When he woke with Sherlock next to him in bed with a fresh scratch on his arm and his hair turning white he had been furious. Sherlock had admitted to using John’s nail to do it. John had felt betrayed, used, and empty. He had cursed the man he loved to suffer. For three weeks he refused to speak or even look at Sherlock. It wasn’t until he found the moleskin Sherlock had used to keep notes on John’s progress that he discovered an entry written three days before Sherlock had scratched himself.

 

‘I won’t let him be alone.’ 

 

John had forgiven him and over the past ten months they had found their rhythm again. Sherlock dyeing his hair once a week to keep it black, John going in for spray tans every once in a while when Sherlock commented on how much he missed the golden tone of his skin. They got good of taking care of each other when the brains had faults. John had gotten hit the worst with two bouts of PTSD, schizophrenia, and two weeks of a terrible depression.

 

John felt Sherlock move, drifting closer to him in the bed. Soon he was engulfed in Sherlock’s arms, his face buried in Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Bad dream?” Sherlock whispered into the dark.

 

John nodded and wrapped his arms around Sherlock and tried to hide in the circle of his arms.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

 

“I know you will.”

 

Sherlock pulled him closer till they were almost one body, their matching pale skin blurring the lines between them. Being a zombie sucked, but it was better with two.


	5. It Wears Many Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NON-CON!!!. it has mentions of murder, torture, rape, and stockholm syndrome do not read if any of these things trigger you!!

Anon: Sherlock possessed by a ghost or something

 

Whatever the things sitting across from him was - it wasn’t Sherlock. It looked like him, but the tone of voice and the mannerisms were off. There was also a tingling at the nape of John’s neck that made his hair stand on end. It’s a warning of danger. John had never felt that way around Sherlock ever.

 

The not-Sherlock steepled his fingers and smiled. “It took you ten minutes to figure it out. He said you were smart but even he thought it would take you at least a day.”

 

“What are you?” John asked, his voice hard.

 

“I’m a demon. That’s all you need to know.”

 

“Where is Sherlock?”

 

The demon smiled and placed a hand on his chest. “He’s right here. I opened him up and slithered under his skin. It’s a tight fit but a handsome one.”

 

John wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. He tried to jerk his body into action but nothing happened.

 

“You won’t be able to move for a while. I drugged your tea. Soon your mind will get foggy and you won’t be able to help but fall asleep.

 

As if on queue, John’s vision started to get hazy. Slowly the world turned black but not without one last look at the demon’s smiling face.

 

Over the next week John spent the majority of his time asleep. When he was awake he could see the demon moving around him. Whispering terrible things to him. On one of his more awake days he was forced to watch the demon eat Molly alive after it had lured her to the flat. The sounds of her screams and the crunching of her bones made him want die.

 

“Why? Why don’t you just kill me?” He’d asked watching it lick its fingers clean of her blood.

 

It looked up at him as if surprised by his question. “Because you’re special. Even Sherlock felt that way.” It leaned forward and brushed John’s hair off his forehead. “You are going to be my companion.”

 

Over the next year the demon broke him till he was a shadow of himself. When it wasn’t psychologically tormenting him, it was physically torturing him. It killed everyone he had ever cared about and made him watch. When its hunger for blood was filled, the demon turned its attention on John and sated its desire for physical pleasure.

 

John let it do what it wanted. He no longer had the energy or the aspiration to fight back. He went with it when he hunted, praising it for a good kill then let himself be kissed by it. When the demon was inclined he would let it push him into a wall and fuck him, the blood from its victim pooling around their feet.

 

By the time year three rolled around he had grown to enjoy the demon’s attention. In the back of his mind he knew it was a survival tactic but he didn’t care. It made his day-to-day life more bearable. At year five he had convinced himself he loved the demon as he had once loved Sherlock. He wanted his captor’s praise and affection. He would go so far as to lure people to the flat for the demon or even attack and kill victims it picked for him.

 

After a night of hunting and fucking, the demon pulled out of him and smiled down at him.

 

“I’ve decided to grant you your wish.”

 

“What wish?” John asked his mind coming out of his post-orgasm haze.

 

“About wanting to die.” It ran a finger down his cheek.

 

“But I don’t want to die anymore.” John took hold of the demon’s arms, trying to get it to understand how much he wanted to stay with it.

 

“I know.” It simpered at him. “And that makes you boring. And I hate boring above anything else.” 

 

The demon sighed, looking down at John’s dead body. The look of shock was still plastered across his face. It had been fun while it lasted. There was nothing better than destroying a good person while wearing the face of the person they loved most. But it was time for a new game. It shed Sherlock’s skin and headed out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration for these fic's came from iZombie, Dead Like Me, and Terry Pratchett's Discworld books.


End file.
